


One Last Dance

by notyouranswer (gorgeouschaos)



Series: Guess We Both Know [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 03:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21385138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gorgeouschaos/pseuds/notyouranswer
Summary: Natasha waited.It was a question of who would break first, now. It was never a question of what the sacrifice neither of them could bear to make would be. It was never in doubt that neither of them would ever let the other die.Her heart was shattering with the knowledge that she would be leaving Clint behind. Natasha knew how much this would destroy him, but there was no other option. This was their last dance.One last, deadly dance with the only partner who had ever been able to keep up.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov
Series: Guess We Both Know [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1541656
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	One Last Dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unseenstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unseenstars/gifts).

> I saw a post about how Natasha's jump off the side of the cliff on Vormir looked like a ballet dancer's and thus this fic happened.  
This is dedicated to unseenstars, a close friend of mine who was having a rough week a while ago.  
I promised Clintasha retirement fluff.  
This is not that. 
> 
> Hope you like it! If you do, kudos/comments truly make my day. :)

The first time Natasha had spoken to Clint, they had been dancing under the cold gazes of Russian oligarchs and Dubai billionaires. She remembered every word they had whispered into each other's ears, but just as clear even after all those years was the way that Clint had matched her every move. He had always been a warrior but he had danced with the kind of dexterity she had only ever seen in the Red Room.

After so long of watching each others’ backs, Natasha and Clint knew the meaning of every movement, every twitch, every stillness that the other had.

Until Vormir, Natasha had thought that was an advantage.

Sitting on an icy rock and pretending not to be watching every movement Clint made, Natasha regretted ever allowing herself to get this close to him.

Clint was fiddling with his arrows and pretending not to be observing her right back with that hawk-like focus Natasha knew he had.

Natasha waited. 

It was a question of who would break first, now. It was never a question of what the sacrifice neither of them could bear to make would be. It was never in doubt that neither of them would ever let the other die. 

Her heart was shattering with the knowledge that she would be leaving Clint behind. Natasha knew how much this would destroy him, but there was no other option. This was their last dance.

One last, deadly dance with the only partner who had ever been able to keep up.

Clint was the first to make a move.

“I guess we both know,” Clint started, his eyes locked onto her, and Natasha did not allow herself to close her eyes in resignation.

Natasha remembered everything about their first dance. She knew Clint did, too, just as she knew he would never forget anything about this moment. 

She knew he would never be able to forgive her for this.

Clint begged her not to let go. Natasha had never heard him beg for anything.

She smiled through her tears and ripped herself out of Clint’s grasp, pushing off the side of the cliff with a flex of her foot. 

She was wearing boots but the motion came from an instinct that had nothing to do with combat. 

Perhaps it came from when she had worn ballet flats and danced for her life with terrified, secret joy, or perhaps it was from when she had first danced with the assassin who would be the only partner she would ever need.

As she fell, she couldn’t hear Clint screaming.

It wasn’t because of the winter wind rushing against her face. It was because all she could hear was music that had played across a Moscow ballroom a long time ago.


End file.
